


The Finer Points of Local Politics

by Brigdh



Category: Benjamin January Mysteries - Barbara Hambly, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigdh/pseuds/Brigdh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Ben and Hannibal and Rose were living in Laketown?</p><p>(A crossover between <i>The Benjamin January mysteries</i> and <i>The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Finer Points of Local Politics

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lynndyre on LJ, to the prompt: a random crack au: what if Ben and Hannibal and Rose were living in Laketown, "Wind out of Oklahoma this morning smelled like blood and smoke" (The Mountain Goats: Pink and Blue).

The boat slipped quietly through the fog, gliding smoothly across water as still and flat as glass. The fog did strange things to sound; at one moment, they seemed to be entirely alone in the world, but by the next a voice or racket from Laketown was startlingly close. The white mist parted and the walls abruptly loomed above them; they’d arrived with a speed Bard hadn’t expected. He could hear one of the dwarves muttering, luckily somewhat muffled by the fish, and kicked the barrel in warning. The volume increased briefly, but then subsided into silence.

Bard handled the guards and bribes in his usual manner, his strategy changing only once they were within Laketown itself. He had regular connections who would buy whatever he could smuggle into the city, but under these circumstances he was more concerned with staying unseen than with getting an appropriate price. He headed for his own dock, staying out of view by taking side canals and avoiding the main marketplace. He thought he had managed it– the dwarves were quickly hustled out of their barrels and into his house with as little vocal protest as they seemed capable of– but when Bard paused for one last glance around, he noticed a man standing across the narrow strip of water looking directly back at him.

It was January, a man Bard didn’t know much of. He had a reputation for being honest, and mostly stayed out of politics, neither seeking the patronage of the Master nor openly defying him. Once or twice he had helped Bard offload heavy goods in exchange for payment. That, at least, boded well for the likelihood of his immediately betraying Bard to the Master.

As Bard watched, the surprise faded off of January’s face, to be replaced by an assessing look. He met Bard’s eyes evenly, then glanced down at Bard’s barge. “Good haul of fish today,” he called across the canal. His voice was carefully casual, as though there was nothing more unusual to remark on.

“Ah, yes,” Bard said, and hesitated before making a decision. “You interested in selling them for me? I have other work I need to do.”

“I could do that,” January said. He made his way across a nearby bridge and back to Bard’s dock, walking with neither hurry nor delay. As he came closer, Bard realized that he was a tall man, taller than Bard himself. January was handsome and dark-skinned, and clearly strong enough to have no difficultly poling Bard’s barge alone. Bard tilted the pole toward him, and for a moment both their hands were on its work-smoothed wood, their bodies near enough that a blow from either would be a simple thing, and would be sure to land solidly. Bard felt tension stiffen his muscles, and he straightened his shoulders and minutely widened his stance. But as he looked up into January’s face, the man only smiled somewhat crookedly in recognition of the caution that made every interaction a potential minefield. It was a likable expression, and Bard let himself relax.

He released his grip on the pole, and January stepped around him and onto the barge. He studied the fish scattered across its deck and awkwardly dumped out of the barrels, moving carefully to avoid stepping on one. When he looked back to Bard, his eyes were warm with amusement, though his face was straight. “Shouldn’t take long to sell these. There’s not much other food to buy, after all. I’ll bring you back what I earn this afternoon, if that’s all right?”

Bard nodded and stepped back from the dock, and January pushed off, the barge moving easily away.

***

It wasn’t January who came that afternoon, but his wife. Bard knew her somewhat better; she offered lessons in reading or numbers to Laketown’s girls, and his daughters would attend when they could afford to. She remained properly outside the door when he answered her knock, not sneaking a peek at the interior. Of course, thought Bard sourly, January had probably already told her all about the dwarves.

She carried a basket filled with odds and ends– Bard could see several loaves of bread, a bag of apples, and a neatly woven scarf– which was to be expected. Laketown’s market operated more on barter than coin these days. A man stood behind her, thin of face and no taller than Mistress January, carrying a second basket. Bard distantly recognized him from having seen him with the Januarys before; he would have assumed the man was a brother or cousin, if he hadn’t looked nothing like either of them. “These belong to you, I understand,” she said, handing Bard her basket.

He accepted it, trying to keep his body angled in such a way as to keep the door mostly closed. His effort was rendered pointless as a squabble inside suddenly grew louder, the voices too deep to be his children’s. He thought he caught sight of one side of Mistress January’s mouth quirking up into a quickly repressed smile, but she turned before he was sure. She said nothing, merely taking the second basket from her friend and passing it to Bard.

“Thank you,” he said, conscious of his manners but wanting to end the conversation immediately.

“Please let us know if we may be of any additional assistance,” she said before he could close the door. “My husband and I understand that it’s not always possible to do both the right thing and the legal one. We’re willing to help you.”

Bard, only half-listening, muttered, “Of course,” and prodded her foot off of his threshold and once more began to shut the door. She let herself be backed up, but one of the dwarves caught the edge of its frame and held it in place against Bard’s efforts. “You are _in hiding_ ,” Bard said, meaning to whisper but coming closer to a shout.

The dwarf– it was the oldest one, his beard and hair gone entirely white, whom Bard thought was named Balin- ignored him, looking Mistress January carefully up and down. He frowned, staring at her so intensely that it boarded on offensive. Mistress January’s eyebrows went up, but she calmly folded her hands in front of her waist and waited for him to finish. Finally Balin nodded, having apparently judged her trustworthy. “We’ve got an injured dwarf in here. The wound looks infected. Anything you can do about that?”

“My husband’s a healer.” She turned to her friend. “Go and bring Benjamin, tell him–”

“No,” Bard said. “Tell him nothing. There’s already enough people in and out of here to be suspicious. Besides, I’ve never heard of him being a healer before now.”

Mistress January didn’t flinch at the implied accusation. “And how many people in Laketown can afford medicine, when the matter isn’t life-threatening? We all do what we must to survive.”

“Kili needs a healer,” Balin said, pulling Bard’s gaze away from Mistress January. “Let her bring her husband, or I’ll go and find one myself.”

Bard held out for another few seconds, but relented and opened the door wide. Mistress January quickly caught the hand of her friend and pressed it, releasing him to speed away. She turned to Bard with a smile, lifting her skirts to cross the threshold.


End file.
